


Metamorphosis

by Annabelle_W



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Omega, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-05-25 02:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14967599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabelle_W/pseuds/Annabelle_W
Summary: Sam and Dean are researching the Gem of Amara when they find themselves in an alternate universe where everyone is either Alpha, Omega, or Beta.  Then they start changing . . . and noticing each other.





	1. Watching Buffy

Sam's POV:

We're binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the Dean Cave, like we do every two or three years. The show seemed like it was on all the time when we were teenagers, making it a constant of my hectic adolescence, so watching it feels pleasantly nostalgic. Plus, we can both relate to the journeys of the characters. Coming back from the dead (more than once). Fighting vampires and demons. Sacrificing oneself to save the world. Romantic relationships that never work out. Struggles with depression and alcoholism. Losing and regaining one's soul. Longing to be normal when you know you never can be. Daddy issues. Strange addictions born of a desire for power. It's all very familiar.

Also . . . .

"She really is cute." Dean waves a piece of popcorn at the screen, where early season 4 Buffy is chatting with Willow.

No arguing with that. She was one of my biggest crushes back in the day. Small. Both curvy and athletic. Fierce but sweet. Caring, nurturing--especially towards the younger sister who randomly shows up in season 5. Instinctual. An impressive, graceful fighter. Plus, the combination of blonde hair and green eyes has always been my favorite. Granted, I haven't been with anyone who looks like that in over a decade. It was too painful to even look at blonde-haired, green-eyed women for a long time after I lost Jess. And I still feel a pang when I see them. So, it's been mostly brunettes with brown or blue eyes. Mostly.

Dean's speaking again, despite having a mouthful of popcorn. "I bet you prefer Willow, though, eh, Sam? Since you have a thing for red-haired witches."

I glare at him. "I slept with Rowena one time!" I huff. "I never should have told you about that."

Dean throws back his head as he laughs. "I will never understand what it is about you and monsters."

"You've been with non-humans before, too!"  
He frowns. "Not deliberately." I can tell from his sober expression that he's remembering the daughter I had to kill (before she killed him).

I want to get him out of his funk before he's really in it, so I say the first thing that pops into my mind. "What about Amara?"

He looks affronted (but, thankfully, no longer depressed). "I never slept with her!"

"But you would have." I'm certain of this.

He throws a kernel of popcorn at me. "Only because she was manipulating my feelings."

I catch it, pop it in my mouth. "Oh, come on!--You so would have slept with her anyway. She was exactly your type." Tall and slender, long brown hair, high cheekbones, eyes sparkling with intelligence.

He tilts his head, purses his mouth, considering. "Yeah, you're right. She was hot."

We watch silently for a few minutes. "You know," Dean comments consideringly, "Anya's pretty cute, too."

"I guess." I wait until Dean takes a mouthful of beer before I add: "She's too neurotic. I like her better as a vengeance demon."

He sputters, is clearly one step away from losing his beer through his mouth or his nose. He swallows. Guffaws. "You would!" he declares between chuckles.

I laugh with him and at him. Mostly with him. Moments of joy are so rare in our dark lives.

Dean slowly settles down. His grin morphs into a thoughtful expression. "You know who I actually think is the hottest Buffyverse girl?"

"Did you just say 'Buffyverse'?" Dean likes to pretend that I'm the nerdy one while he's just an average Joe without a single geeky tendency. It's my job as his little brother to call him out whenever he proves otherwise.

"Shut up." Dean rolls his eyes but his skin looks distinctly pink for a moment. "Anyway, it's that Fred chick from Angel."

I nod. Long legs, dark hair, brilliant. What did I just say (okay, think) about Dean's type. "I can see that."

"Hey, wait." Dean sits up straight, points at the tv. "Did he just say Gem of Amara? Amara Amara? How did I not notice that before?"

I lean forward, paying closer attention to the show. Sure enough, the invincibility ring Spike is so desperate to possess is called the Gem of Amara. "I wonder if there's a connection. I mean" I bite the inside of my mouth "the writer could have found the name while researching paranormal entities."

I stare sightlessly at the screen for a moment. Something's niggling at me. "You know" I speak slowly, weighing my thoughts "I think I came across a reference to a gem or a ring when I was researching the" I glance at him "the Darkness. I ignored it because it didn't seem relevant."

He's gaping at me. "A ring of invincibility didn't seem relevant?!" He turns away, shaking his head. "Sometimes I can't believe we're related."

Our eyes meet in wordless communication.

*

Five minutes later, we're in the library, feverishly going through all of the information the Men of Letters have on rings, gems, and, most importantly, Amara. I can't resist saying, "I've never seen you so eager for research before."

"We've never researched anything so cool before," he shoots back.

Before I can protest that we've researched plenty of cool information--weapons, monsters, alternate universes, spells--he grabs my arm.

"I think I've found it."

I race around the table so that I can read over his shoulder. Turns out that there is, in fact, a ring that can give the wearer (some of) Amara's powers. Not just invincibility. Telekinesis. Teleportation. Telepathic abilities. Super strength.

"Wow," Dean breathes. "It's like all of the super heroes rolled into one."

I secretly roll my eyes under cover of examining the catalog card of Dean's book. Which of us is the geek again? I take a second (real) look at the card. "Hey, it looks like there's more information in the archives."

*

The corresponding folder is disappointingly thin. The first page warns of danger in twenty-four different languages. The second page contains a spell for locating the ring. There's something familiar about it. 

"Aren't those the ingredients Balthazar used to send us to that bizarro world where you were Polish?"

"And we weren't even brothers." That universe was sooo weird. "Yeah, I think you're right."

*

The spell isn't exactly the same. At least, I don't think so. That event was years ago and we were a little too concerned about getting killed by Raphael's angels to memorize ingredient amounts or incantations. Also, the directions require the sigil to be drawn in a specific location in the Bunker.

Dean measures the ingredients; I mix them. He reads the words; I use our newly-concocted potion to draw the symbols on the wall.

A doorway appears. We glance at each other, walk through.

Two other people walk into the secret room at the same time.

We stare. They stare back.

They're us.


	2. Alpha Dean

Dean's POV:

At first, I think we're looking into a mirror. A big, wall-sized mirror. After all, there are two identical desks topped with identical knickknacks and fronted with identical (uncomfortable-looking) chairs. There are two identically unidentifiable paintings over the desks. There are two identical wall shelves covered with identical books, notebooks, folders, boxes, and objects. There are two open doors. There are two Sams gaping identically at each other. And there's another me.

But the Sam and Dean before us are only our reflections if this is a fun-house mirror.

For one thing, they're the same height. Alt Sam must be a couple inches shorter than my Sam and Other Dean a couple inches taller than me. The differences go further than that, though. Alt Sam isn't just smaller lengthwise (not that six-three is exactly a mean height) he's, well, delicate is the word that crosses my mind. His slender form is reminiscent of how my Sam looked in his late teens and early twenties. This difference of shape is rendered all the more obvious by the fact that the two Sams are dressed the same: brown boots, jeans, maroon plaid buttoned over a black v-neck. They even have the same chin-length, too-long hair. Only, under that hair, alt-Sam has a clean-shaven, soft-skinned, sweet-looking face. I glance at my Sam's angular, stubbled, rugged visage and wonder if this is how he would have looked had his life been easier, had I left him at Stanford, had I done a better job protecting him, had the world not been conspiring to make his life miserable since before he was born. Alt Sam radiates contentment. He's happy. My Sam, I realize, isn't, hasn't been for years.

"Stop staring at my mate!" a deep voice growls. I blink. I hadn't seen him move, but now Other Dean is glaring at me, inches from my face. I blink again. He's massive. Taller than me and far, far broader. Forget Other Dean. He's Hulk Dean. Only more red than green.

I resist the urge to take a step back. But I did not get to be the best hunter in the world by showing fear in the face of those who are bigger and stronger than me, so I glare defiantly back at him. "Mate? I hope that's British slang, because . . . ."

Giant hands grip my shirt. "Don't disrespect my Omega." Green irises are suddenly ringed with a fiery red.

"Your what?" I do not stammer. "What are you?"

"I could ask you the same question." A knife materializes at my chin. "A pair of Beta shapeshifters who got us wrong?'

Sam--my Sam--steps between us. "Look, we can prove we're human."

I'm dimly aware of Hulk Dean and I turning to him with shocked synchronicity. "Because you have monster testers in your pocket," we speak at the same time.

"Yes," both Sams reply, while pulling small vials of holy water, saltshakers, and silver coins out of their jeans' pockets.

Hulk Dean must be as speechless as I am because both of us watch in silence as our Sams methodically test all four of us.

Afterward, Alt Sam takes Hulk Dean's hand. "See," he murmurs. "They're just our Beta alternate universe doppelgangers."

"I need a drink." Once again, Hulk Dean and I speak at the same time.

"I'll get you one." He gestures at the door he and Alt Sam came through.

*

The alternative universe Bunker looks exactly the same as ours--same layout, same furniture, same books. But it doesn't feel like our Bunker. It's somehow more domestic. Why and how, though? I take a closer look. There are understated splotches of color from artwork, figurines, candles, cushions: the sort of things that Lisa had strewn around her house, that I dimly recall from our Lawrence home, that I've seen in countless houses across the nation, that Sam and I would never think to buy.

But this Sam and Dean had.

Hulk Dean leads me to his Dean Cave.

It's comfortingly familiar. Same music, same furnishings, same bar, same (minimal) decorations, same foosball table, same wide-screen tv. Not the same recliners, though. This Dean Cave has a massive couch.

"We wanted one big enough so that we could, you know . . . ." Hulk Dean raises his eyebrows suggestively.

I can't avoid the mental image of Sam and me writhing on all that black leather. My resulting gulp is nearly a gag. "So, you really are together?'

Hulk Dean is still staring at that couch. "Sammy looks so hot spread out on that." He licks his lips.

My jaw drops. Not only is this way too much information, but it doesn't seem quite right--it doesn't fit with the picture in my head of Sam gazing intently down at me as he . . . . I blink away the thought.

"Anyway, yeah, of course we're together. You're not?" He looks at me appraisingly. "I guess you wouldn't be since you're Betas." He shrugs.

"You know, that is the" I count on my fingers "third time you've called us that. What the frack is a Beta?'

He looks at me almost pityingly, clearly wondering if I'm mentally deficient. "As in, not Alpha or Omega?"

"Okay, the only Alphas I know of are the first monsters of their kind. Like the Alpha Vamp." We are speaking the same language but we are clearly not communicating.

Hulk Dean slumps down on the couch. "I'm an Alpha. Sam's an Omega. Our friend Cas is a Beta."

I carefully sit next to him. "Okay. Is that, like, a classification system?"

Hulk, sorry, Alpha Dean hops up and heads for the bar. "Something tells me you'll need that drink I promised you while I explain this."

 

m


	3. Omega Sam

Sam's POV:

"So, half the people in your world are Betas, and they're just what I think of as normal people?" I'm sorting through a box of what looks to be spell ingredients: angel feathers, vials of long-dried blood, belladonna, wolfs-bane, and what appears to be phoenix ash.

Omega Sam looks up from his perusal of a remarkably similar box on his side of the room. "Based on what you've told me, yeah."

"Weird." We speak at the same time, shaking our heads in unison. It's mildly disconcerting.

I flip quickly through a folder filled with information on Amara that would have been extremely useful a couple years ago. Unfortunately, it says absolutely nothing about a ring. "Okay, so the rest of the people in your universe are either Alphas or Omegas?"

"Yeah." He sets down the folder in his hand and picks up a book with a worn green cover.

The book next to my most recent folder also has a worn green cover. I'm beginning to suspect that the two sides of this office look identical because they are--because they literally contain the exact same materials. "And they can be either men or women?"

He nods.

"So, a woman could, theoretically, knock up a guy?" I cringe at the thought.

He shrugs. "There's nothing theoretical about it. Plenty of Alpha women have Omega husbands."

I start searching through the contents of another box. It's packed with lore about archangels. There's even a detailed facsimile of an archangel blade. My fingers itch to thoroughly study all of it. Someday. Maybe after I locate that tantalizing, mysterious, missing ring. I sigh and meet Omega Sam's eyes. "I guess I can't get past the idea that I . . . that a version of me could get pregnant."

He smiles and rubs his belly. "You wouldn't feel that way if you were an Omega."

I grimace. "I'll take your word for it."

Omega Sam's smile fades into a thoughtful frown. "I can't imagine a world without Alpha women and Omega men." He picks up the fake archangel blade from his side of the room. "So many great leaders were Alpha women." He drops the blade back in the box. "But so few were Beta women."

I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to defend my world, list all of the inspirational queens, female governors, prime ministers, CEOs, senators. But, his universe probably has all of those and more, especially if, as it sounds, Alpha women are higher on the totem pole than normal (sorry, Beta) men. A thought hits me. "Wait, have you had any women presidents?"

He shrugs again. "Well, yeah. Most of our leaders are Alphas, and half of those are women. Our second president was Joanna Adams." He starts skimming through another folder. "Her Omega was amazing, too. Abigail. She's one of my heroes."

I forget to breathe as I try to fathom a same-sex female couple in the White House. I open my mouth to ask some of the dozens of follow-up questions I have.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep

Omega Sam presses a button on his phone, silencing the intruding, interrupting alarm. "Time to start supper," he states. "Want to help?"

*

The differences between their kitchen and ours amount mainly to colorful hand towels and oven mitts, and a bouquet of spring flowers (don't ask me what variety--I only recognize plants that are useful for spell work and monster-killing) until Omega Sam opens one of the cupboards. At home, that cupboard possesses a sparse jumble of mismatched coffee mugs. This one contains three shelves of cookbooks, all neatly arranged, organized exactly as I would have done had I ever developed an interest in culinary literature. Omega Sam selects one, opens it to a marked page, and begins collecting ingredients from cabinets, the fridge, and the freezer, all of which are bursting with (mostly) nutritious food. The interior of our fridge is mostly beer and leftover take-out. This kitchen is so much like the one I dreamed of when a wife and the proverbial picket fence still seemed like a possibility that I feel a pang.

I shift my feet. "So you know, Dean banned me from the stove after the third time I started a fire. I'm kind of hopeless when it comes to cooking." I look down. "So, I don't know how much help I'll be."

He gapes at me, open-mouthed, hazel eyes widened in shock. "You don't? I mean, you're me. How can you not like cooking?"

Should I really feel like I betrayed my doppelganger because we don't share all the same hobbies? "I guess it just never appealed to me. Dean cooks sometimes."

Omega Sam's jaw drops again. "My Dean would never cook. Alphas don't usually. Well, unless they have aspirations to be among the top chefs in the world."

A picture jumps into my mind of Dean (my Dean) wearing a chef's hat and a white apron stirring one bowl after another, as he weaves together a delicious concoction. Wait, why is imaginary Dean wearing nothing under his apron?--What's wrong with me?

I blink, seize upon the first unrelated thought to enter my head. "So, how did you end up in that hidden office?"

He starts chopping herbs and vegetables, adding the minced results to a pot on the stove. "Well, we were watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer . . . ."

I can't help interrupting: "So were we!"

My rudeness doesn't seem to bother him, because he turns to me with a grin. "I love that show. An Omega who's the most powerful hunter on earth?" He shakes his head, still grinning. "It's totally inspirational."

I grin back. "You don't have to tell me that."

His smile turns a bit sly. "Plus, both of her Alpha boyfriends are super hot.--Especially when they fight each other."

My smile fades. "Um."

He returns to his meal prep. "I guess they wouldn't be your type, though, would they?'

I suppress a shudder. "Not really." It occurs to me that I'm experienced enough slicing monsters that I should be able to slice a few veggies without too many mishaps, so I grab a knife and start to help. "I wonder if we've had any of the same love interests?"

He smirks. "Good question. Who was your first kiss?"

"A kitsune named Amy."

A half smile. "Mine, too." He tosses his head to get his hair off his face. "That was before we both presented as Omegas. I wasn't particularly attracted to her when we met as adults!"

I can't relate to that. "Oh, I was. She was gorgeous. We even got together for one night." I don't bother to mention her fate; Omega Sam's despondent face tells me that his Amy had also been killed--probably by the same big brother. "Okay, how about first" I raise my eyebrows suggestively "first?"

"Travis Hardiman."

The male first name doesn't surprise me, but "Hardiman?"

Omega Sam gathers everything we've diced, throws all of it into the pot, starts measuring spices. "Yeah. I met him in Des Moines when I was sixteen."

I sweep the residue on the counter into the trash can he points me to. "It's just that my first was a Tracy Hardiman, who I met in Des Moines when I was sixteen. She never said anything about a brother."

"Travis didn't have a sister."

We spin to face each other, speak at the same time: "They were the same person!"

Once we're done laughing, Omega Sam sobers. "First love?"

I wince as once again I feel the coldness of the blood dripping onto my face, the searing tickle of the flames, the soreness of my throat from screaming. I close my eyes, as if doing so could ever save me from the sight of the woman I planned to marry burning and bleeding on the ceiling. "Jess," I whisper. "Jessica Moore.

"What, really?" He waits until I nod before continuing. "Jess was my best friend. Until a demon possessed her and killed my boyfriend."

"Let me guess: Brady?"

A dreamy, faraway smile. "Yeah."

"Huh." I give us both a moment to recover from the horrifying memory of one of the worst nights of our lives. "Okay, let's go for embarrassing next. Ruby?"

He gives me a thumbs up. "Her last vessel was the hottest Alpha female. Wow, was she amazing in bed!"

"Oh, yeah." I give a thumbs up back. I never thought I'd come across someone who would actually understand my attraction to the demon. Unexpectedly awesome consequence of meeting oneself, I guess.

He's biting his lip as he stirs. "Let's skip all the soulless one night stands. What about Don? Don Richardson."

Don Richardson? Who? "Oh! You mean Amelia's husband."

He opens a can and tosses the contents into his concoction. "He thought she died in the Middle East and I thought Dean was dead, so we bonded over our grieving." 

I tell him about my Amelia, before adding. "It's amazing how similar our backgrounds are, despite the fact that you like guys and I don't. But" I add, mischievously, "I bet you never slept with Rowena or anyone connected to her."

He wrinkles his nose in obvious disgust. "No. I did kiss Crowley once, though."

I can feel my eyes bugging out.

"I was in heat and I was fighting with Dean and he was all Alpha pheromones. I couldn't resist." He puts a lid on his pot and sets a timer. "And, as you know, I do like demons." A pause. "Angels are better, though. So dominating." He sighs.

My eyes bug again. "Don't tell me. Cas?"

"Uh, huh. Dean and I were broken up at the time. Because he tricked me into being possessed by an angel. And I have never regretted it." He licks his lips.

Quite suddenly, I'm convinced that my genetically submissive counterpart has had a more adventurous, exciting love life than I have.

Beeeeeep. "Oh, look. Dinner's ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun imagining how a/b/o would alter and affect the world.


	4. Dynamics

Dean's POV:

Alpha Dean tosses me a beer. "So, you guys were watching Buffy before this all happened" he waves his finger in a circle, presumably encompassing him, me, both Sams, the office between worlds, and both universes "too?"

I open my bottle and take a sip. "Yeah. Sam has a thing for her." Why am I hesitant to admit my own love for the show? Alt Me is well, me. Then again, he's a me bursting with testosterone. No wonder I want to assert my own masculinity by denying my interest in a girly series.

Alpha Dean raises an eyebrow. "Your Sam has a thing for Buffy."

"She is cute." Why am I defending my brother's taste in women?

He shrugs while taking a drink. "My Sam is more into Spike."

It shouldn't surprise me that my brother's incestuous doppelganger is something less (more?) than straight, but somehow it does. I guess I'd been assuming that the alt Winchesters were a couple of straight guys (brothers) who (bizarrely) made an exception for each other. "And you?" I gasp out. "Which one do you like?'

He pauses. "Oz is cute."

That answers my subtle Are you bisexual? question. 

Alpha Dean goes on. "Plus I love his relationship with Willow. A Beta girl and an Omega boy. It was unheard of an network tv back then."

I'm starting to suspect that sexuality is viewed somewhat differently in this universe.

"But," he grins, "I'd rather watch the girls on Angel. Cordelia is smokin'!"

Finally, we agree on something. "No arguments there. I prefer Fred, though."

He licks his lips. "Oh, yeah. Brilliant Omega. Mile-long legs. Long hair. Gorgeous. She's like a female Sam."

I blink rapidly, trying to dislodge the mental image of my ultra-masculine, ginormous brother in a mini-skirt. I will never be able to view Fred the same again. My stomach roils in agreement. I cast about for a counter-argument and find one surprisingly quickly. "I think Sam is more like Wesley. Tall. Dark hair. Brilliant. Great researcher. Rogue demon hunter. Handsome." Wait, what? My brain helpfully supplies a picture of Sam in a black button-down and brown suede jacket. Plus Wesley's motorcycle. When did my heart start beating so quickly?

My tangled thoughts are interrupted by laughter.

"What?"

"Well," he responds between guffaws, "If Fred is Omega Sam and Wesley is Alpha Sam, then season 5 has a, um, relationship between two Sams."

I join in. Two Sams holding hands on the stairs. Two Sams kissing. My Sam bending Omega Sam over the library table . . . . My laughter ends with a gasp. 

My gasp has an echo. Based on Alpha Dean's flushed face and rapid pulse, his thoughts have taken a similar turn. He looks more than a little relieved when his phone buzzes. "Supper's ready."

*

I can tell that the meal I'm eating is chock-full of healthy ingredients, but it tastes as amazing as my favorite artery-clogging diner foods. "Wow," I say around a tasty mouthful (ignoring Sam's snort of disgust). "What spices did you use?"

Alpha Dean and Omega Sam share a look of silent communication. It feels strange to be on the outside of that--makes me sympathize with our friends. But, since they're us (mostly) I can interpret it: basically, they're in agreement that Sam and I are--in some ways--very different from them.

That done, Omega Sam answers me. When I keep asking questions (about sauces and veggies and meats and side dishes and what can I say?--I love food) he pulls out his phone to show me where gets ideas for dishes, where he finds the best recipes, which cookbooks are must-haves. I feel a tiny bit like an overexcited housewife, but, come on, you cannot be passionate about eating without becoming interested in the process of creating awesome food.

"So then he stabs himself in the chest with this needle to stop his heart. You know, so that he can see the ghosts." My Sam is apparently bonding with Alpha Dean by comparing hunts.

"He what?!" Alpha Dean apparently doesn't approve. 

Sam shoots me a triumphantly raised eyebrow. He's smirking when he turns back to Alpha Dean. "I take it that's not how you did it."

Alpha Dean's eyes are glowing red again. "I would not kill myself and leave my mate undefended." He glares at me. "We torched the place."

"I was defending Sam by finishing the hunt in the quickest way possible!" Why am I explaining myself?--the only relevance of my methods should be the fact that they worked.

Sam stands up. "And what if Billie hadn't sent you back?!" His eyes are flashing with pain and anger. For a moment, I fancy I see a spark of red in those hazel depths.

Omega Sam grabs his arm. "You haven't seen anything of our universe," he intones, in that calm, modulated Sam voice that convinces suspicious witnesses to tell him all they know. "Why don't we go out."

*

At first, the bar seems like any of the dives I've been frequenting since Dad gifted me with my first drinking-age fake ID. It's dim. The air smells of whiskey, leather, and smoke (despite the smoking ban). The music alternates between classic country and classic rock. The people, for the most part, are dressed like us, in denim and flannel. 

Soon, though, I start to notice subtle differences. There are far more same-sex pairings. In several (Alpha and Omega?) couples, one partner displays his (or her) submissiveness by wearing a collar. 

"Do you think the Alpha requires that?" Sam mutters, looking repulsed.

"Sometimes," Omega Sam replies. "But some Omegas choose to wear a collar. It's way of showing that you're unavailable, that you've found your mate." He rubs his long neck absently. I wonder if he's ever worn a collar. Not that he needs one, with his hulk of an Alpha hovering around him, eyes igniting whenever anyone so much as looks at his Sam. There's no doubt of Omega Sam's relationship status.

Unsurprisingly, my Sam seeks out these couples, making small talk, as he diplomatically queries about their dynamics. Always the researcher, my brother. 

"And who is this pretty little thing?" The speaker is the central figure in a group of three men, all approximately my height and build.

I turn to see if there's a girl behind me. There isn't. When I turn back, the three are closer, almost surrounding me.

"I meant you, pretty." The central man leers as his eyes wander slowly up and down my body. "What are you?" he breathes. "Your smell is so" he sniffs my neck "distinct."

I take a breath. I've been hit on by guys before, but not so preditorily since my early twenties. "Look, pal. I don't swing that way." I step back.

They step forward.

"Okay, that's enough." The voice is Sam's, but it doesn't belong to my Sam. He is currently across the room, chatting with two young women and a young man, all of whom are clearly very interested in him. Perhaps sensing my gaze, he lifts his head and meets my eye. A second later, he's moving towards me, one hand behind his back, likely gripping a weapon. I don't need rescuing from a group of douchebags, but it's good to know I have backup. 

The jerk who accosted me is now appraising Omega Sam. "Does your Alpha know you left the house?" he sneers.

Omega Sam straightens to his full six foot three inches. Even a small version of my brother is unusually tall. "My Alpha knows I can protect myself."

He scoffs. "Is that right?" He throws a punch.

Omega Sam blocks him. His buddies jump to his defense. I punch the one closest to me.

It takes Omega Sam and me less than a minute to knock out all three of them.

The group that at some point moved to surround us applauds.

"This," says one girl to her friend, while still clapping, "is why I prefer female Alphas." She inclines her head to indicate a spot to my left. "Like her."

Her friend and I both look. A stately woman is leaning against the bar, serenely observing the crowd, her arms crossed, displaying enough muscle definition to show that she could hold her own in a fight, but not so much as to make her look remotely masculine. The friend grimaces. "I'm just not attracted to women. But" her lips curve into a smile "there are a lot of hot Beta men." Her eyes meet mine with more than a hint of flirtation. I wink at her.

"Nice one, Dude." Sam raises a hand for me to slap.

I could point out that he took his sweet time getting here, but it's not like the world (or the bar, or Omega Sam, or me) was in any danger from three douche Alphas. Besides, for some reason, I'm glad that he watched me take out those jerks.

"That was hot, Baby!" Alpha Dean sets the drinks he was getting on a nearby table. 

Omega Sam looks at him archly. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." And he kisses him.


	5. What is this ring, this least of rings?

Sam's POV:

The pavement pounds beneath my feet as I run several miles further than my normal morning route, trying to process the absolutely bizarre (even for us) events of yesterday. Meeting a Sam and Dean who are together together. Finding out that a plot device in a fantasy tv show is real. A Sam and Dean who are in love. Visiting a world where some men can have babies and some women can father(?) them. A Sam and Dean who might someday have children. A world where mating seems to be so much more intense, focused, lasting than marriage. A Sam who literally bends over for Dean.

Bile dances a gig in my stomach. I slow to a walk. That is really not an appealing prospect.

Maybe if they did it the other way around.

I can so easily imagine Sam whispering endearments in Dean's ear as presses against him, trailing one finger down his back, lower, lower, until he slips it inside. Sam kisses Dean's neck, wrapping his arms around him to pull their bodies flush together. Dean gasps, spins around, pulls Sam into a passionate kiss. They fall into the bed my subconscious has helpfully placed beside them. Dean's fair skin glows, reddens. His pink lips fall open as he drops his head against the pillow. His legs spread, wider, wider. Gently, carefully, lovingly, I push into him . . . .

The eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed pop open. I'm breathing heavily even though I haven't moved more strenuously than a slow amble in several minutes. The workout pants that were baggy when I put them on are uncomfortably tight. My pulse is thundering. When did I start fantasizing about myself having sex with my Dean?

Since when do I, the straightest guy I know, have an unexpected, unbelievable, unwanted crush on my own brother?

Clearly, I need a distraction.

Good thing I've been looking forward to researching--and locating--the Ring of Amara.

*

Several hours later, Omega Sam and I are deep into the books, materials, and typewritten pages found in the Office Between Worlds. There's something to be said for a research partner whose thought processes are exactly the same as yours.

We both drop our pens when the doors are slammed open with twin bangs as the two Deans barge in. They speak at the same time: "I figured you'd be so busy, you'd forget to" Alpha Dean says "cook," my Dean says "eat." They glance at each other before continuing, "So, I came to see if you wanted to order Chinese?'

"Sure," Omega Sam and I respond in unison.

Alpha Dean surveys us with the cool superiority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. "Since you already saw our world," he declares, "Let's eat in yours."

I feel my lips curve south into an upside down 'whatever' smile, while my left shoulder lifts in an indifferent shrug.

I lead the way to the kitchen.

"It'll be twenty minutes," my Dean says, hanging up and putting his phone back in his pocket. He hoists himself up to perch on the counter. "So, did you two nerds find the Precious?"

His muscular thighs are spread slightly. I want to glide between them, cup his beautiful face, rub my thumb over his stubble, press my forehead to his, breathe against his plump lips. I close my eyes against the irrational temptation. What was he asking? Oh, yeah. "So, get this: this Man of Letters from the fifties . . . "

"A Beta named Allen Greene," Omega Sam interjects.

"He figured out that this mystical object in the Siberian Bunker actually contained some of Amara's power."

"Hence the name."

"So, he retrieved it."

"And he started to study it." 

"But he wanted to keep it a secret."

"So, he created the spell for the Office between Worlds."

"And he met his alternate self."

"He had a ring, too."

"And he put it on."

"They both did."

"And it gave them Amara's power."

"For as long as they wore the ring."

"But?" Alpha Dean raises an eyebrow. He's leaning against the counter a couple of feet from my Dean, arms crossed across his massive chest. "What's the catch? Does it turn you into a bald hobbit with a throat problem?"

There's nothing particularly rude about his comment--in fact, it's a very Dean thing to say--but I have to suppress a bizarre urge to march up to him, stretch up to my full height, and look down on him.

Omega Sam gives me an odd look. Some of my internal posturing must show on my face. "We don't know," he informs his mate. "The notes just reference a film."

"So, we're having a movie night?" Dean (my Dean) leans back on his hands, spreading his legs a little further. Does he know just how provocatively sexy he is right now?

Still, something about his deep, deep voice settles the side of me that is irrationally, inexplicably irritated by his Alpha twin. I find myself almost subconsciously moving closer to him as I answer. "There's a reel of film between the two desks. It's the only object in the office that isn't replicated. It has to be the right one. I could go get it?"

He looks up at me through his long eyelashes. My breath catches. Why did I never notice before how lovely his eyes are? So big. So luminous. Such an unusual color. A man could get lost in them. 

Rap . . . Rap . . . Rap

Dean hops off the counter. "There's our food." He winks at me. "We can watch your film while we eat."

*

The film is--as expected--grainy, jumpy, overexposed.

Two men appear, identical down to their clothes. "This," they announce in unison, "is experiment one." Turning to face each other, they slide rings onto their right hands. 

The picture whites out for a moment.

When it clears up, the men look the same. There are no outward changes in their appearance, save for the power-high grins on their faces. Dean and I exchange a glance. We recognize that expression because we've seen it on each other's faces--and our own.

Even so, they start small: Strength-they pick up everything in the office, including each other. Telekinesis-they pick up everything again, using their minds. Teleportation-they disappear and reappear. 

Then, they start to test their imperviousness. They punch each other. They throw each other across the room. They stab each other. They shoot each other. They attempt to hack off limbs. Nothing they do leaves the slightest mark on their bodies.

I'm not the only one leaning forward in interest. This ring is looking like it would be incredibly useful on hunts.

This theory is proven correct a few minutes later (on the tape--likely several days or even weeks had passed for the Allens) when they bring in monsters. Demons, vampires, werewolves. They fight them using all of their ring-given powers. Fighting, fighting, fighting. Honing their skills. Tormenting the creatures for who knows how long (the reel only shows us the moments they felt like filming) before finally exorcising them, decapitating them, or shooting them with silver bullets.

Feeling a little ill, I push away my sweet and sour chicken. From the corner of my eye, I notice Omega Sam doing the same. Both Deans keep munching away. Iron-cast stomachs.

Eventually, it occurs to them to focus their telekinetic energy directly on the monsters. And, Bam!, they've figured out how to smite.

"Wow," comments one Dean. Mine, as it happens.

"Maybe we could use it occasionally," agrees the other. 

"It would be like being Cas for one day."

Why does the admiring, affectionate mention of our powerful angel friend make me literally see red?

The laughter from both of our alternate versions informs me that I am alone in this reaction.

The mirth dies when, after Experiment 57, the Allens bring an attractive young woman into their office.

They take turns showing off. 

She asks "How did you do that?--Are you magicians?"

"No," they speak at the same time. "It's this ring." They show her.

She gasps prettily. "May I try?"

One of the men pulls off his ring to hand to her.

There's a flash like when he first put it on.

His skin starts to undulate, loosening and sagging around his body. His straight form hunches. His dark hair rapidly lightens. 

"Aging," I murmur. "He's growing old." My head starts to throb, perhaps in sympathy for the man's obvious pain.

He collapses. There's a scream as the screen fades to black.

I think that's the end of the film, but a moment later, the screen brightens, showing Allen's face. His young face is utterly wrecked. His hair disheveled, tear tracks lining his face, heavy bags beneath his eyes. "My name is Allen Greene," he manages, in a wavering voice. "I am 32 years old and I am about to die of old age." He removes his ring.

The projector shakes as the film finishes rolling.

Silence.

"Maybe if we didn't use it very often . . . ." Alpha Dean sounds doubtful.

"No." There's no doubt in Omega Sam's tone.

I distantly feel like I should add something, but my headache is intensifying, and it's joined by a sharp pain in my gums, a dull pain in my groin, and a strange tickling sensation in my sinuses. 

All at once, I can smell everything. The ink from Omega Sam's pen. Alpha Dean's hair gel. The remains of our food. Pine-sol. My expensive shampoo. And . . . .

Dean.

Involuntarily, I close my eyes and breathe in. Gun oil. Leather. Smoke. Deodorant. But overpowering all of those is a sweet scent. Apples? Not quite. Cinnamon? Closer. I have it!--He smells like a freshly-baked apple pie.

I want to devour him.


	6. Omega Dean

Dean's POV:

Sam is staring at me. He's (unconsciously?) turned his chair so that he is completely facing me, his red mouth slightly open, his eyes dark. There's a familiar gleam in those hazel depths, but not one that I've ever seen focused on me. As he slowly rises to his feet while keeping his eyes trained unblinkingly on me, I realize where I've seen that expression before: It's the same intense, predatory look he wears when we're hunting. He could be prowling through a graveyard searching for ghouls, tiptoeing through a haunted house testing for ghosts, sauntering through a trailer on the alert for vampires or werewolves, burying a box at a crossroads to summon a demon. But he isn't.

His attention is lasered unwaveringly on me.

He glides over to me, reaches down with those long-fingered hands, pulls me to my feet. He trails those fingers up my arms, across my shoulders, around my neck. His eyes drop to my mouth. He licks his lips. I find myself mirroring him. He bends his head . . . .

A foreign hand grasps my shoulder. "Normally, I wouldn't interrupt a moment like this," Alpha Dean comments.

"But the two of you weren't even interested in each other yesterday," Omega Sam adds.

"That is none of your business," my Sam growls, his eyes flashing red.

Red?

"So, you're the Alpha? How interesting." Omega Sam twitches his fingers, like he wants to start taking notes.

Sam glares at our alternate selves as he steps even closer, pressing his lean, angular, muscular body against mine, fisting my flannel. "Don't you need to be getting back to your own world?'

My sweet, empathic brother is being rude?

Alpha Dean steps back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "We have no interest in getting between you and your mate."

Mate?

The haze that had been upon me falls away. I blink rapidly, shake my head, gulp the air that I apparently forgot to breathe.

Sam tenderly cups my face. "Dean," he asks softly, "Are you okay?"

I push him away. Hard. "No, I am really not okay. And neither are you. When did you become one of" I jerk my hands in the direction of our doppelgangers "them?"

"I . . . ." Sam frowns. The powerful, intimidating, smooth Alpha who nearly seduced me fades into the recognizably soft, sensitive, slightly confused face of my baby brother.

"Aaaaand, this is why we stopped you." Alpha Dean carefully moves closer to us, sizing up Sam while sending me an attempt at a reassuring smile.

Omega Sam gives him an affectionate smirk before stepping in front of him. "Look," he says, turning to me, "Sam did become one of us, as you put it. He presented as an Alpha."

"I noticed," I comment. 

Sam--perhaps inadvertently--speaks over me. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know." He looks fascinated, several all-nighters in a row, fascinated. "We can research it later. But, in the meantime, your brother is about to transition into an Omega."

"What?!" I gasp. "No!" No offense to Omega Sam, but I have no interest in being a submissive girl-man and (potentially) popping out children.

As if in answer, my entire abdomen seizes up in blistering, boiling, burning pain.

*

When the agony dissipates enough for me to be fully aware of my surroundings, I find that I'm in bed. I have an extremely vague memory of Sam carrying me here and gallantly remembering to pull of my shoes before tucking me in. Has he always been this strong? The thought makes a portion of my anatomy deep inside clench, a needy but almost pleasurable sensation.

"Dean?" Sam's face swims into my vision. "Dean, are you lucid?"

"Sam," I rasp. My throat feels like sandpaper. I must have been screaming. "How long was I out?" I'm not sure that's the right word: I wasn't exactly unconscious. I don't think.

He lifts one tanned, ripped forearm to check his watch. "Just over four hours. Do you feel any better?"

"A bit." It's the truth. But it's also true that I don't feel like informing him that it feels like someone used a machete to chop my insides to bits before setting them on fire.

Sam leans closer, skeptical eyes darting up and down my body, clearly cataloging any evidence of discomfort. 

Even so, I find myself flexing my muscles, puffing out my chest, sucking in my stomach (my love for beer, burgers, and pie has resulted in a bit of softness around my middle), trying to present my body to its best advantage.

Why do I want to look good for my brother? I can't possibly be hoping for a repeat of his earlier incestuous insanity. 

Sam sits down next to me. I raise myself on weak, exhausted arms (was I thrashing?) so that I'm sitting next to him. Maybe mostly on him. He wraps one supportive arm around me, uses the other to press a glass of water to my lips. The liquid is cool, fresh, soothing. The arm across my shoulders is solid, warm, dependable. When I breathe in through my nose, I smell old books, ink, whiskey, expensive shampoo. My ear presses against Sam's chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. I tilt my head to look up at him. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Gently curving lips. Decisive nose. Huge, beautiful, expressive, multi-colored eyes. The whole framed by long, dark, chestnut hair, tendrils curving around his jaw. I'm twirling a lock around my fingers before I realize what I'm doing.

Every one of my senses is tuned in to Sam.

And every one of them is telling me I'm safe. 

I haven't felt truly safe since . . . since . . . since I was four years old and both of my parents were alive.

My eyes drift closed.

*

The pain has dulled to an almost bearable throb when I wake up.

It helps that I'm comfortable. My cheek is pressed against soft, worn flannel that is gently moving up and down. One of my hands is curved around more flannel while the other one is buried in something furry (?). More like hairy. It's Sam's hair. He's still in my bed and I've been sleeping nearly on top of him. Almost straddling him.

I lift my head to peer at my brother. He's slumbering peacefully beneath me, his handsome face smoothed almost into prettiness. He resembles the boy I raised.

But that boy did not have the huge, muscle-bound body of the man under me.

The hand curling around his bicep starts to wander of its own volition, caressing the hard plains of Sam's massive chest. I adjust my position for better access (Why am I doing this, anyway?), pushing my left leg further across his lower body. Oh. Speaking of hard . . . .

I bite the inside of my mouth. I should move. I should really move.

His crotch brushes against mine.

He's not the only one who's hard anymore.

The pressure is suddenly so intense it hurts. My blood is pounding through my feverish body. I'm leaking. I'm empty. I want to be filled. (Why?) I want Sam to fill me. I need Sam to fill me.

Now!

I crash forward and slam my lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so weird writing this with my kids bouncing around. Good thing they can't really read yet.


	7. Alpha Sam

Sam's POV:

I can smell apple pie. Jess must be baking. I breathe in deeply as I open our apartment door. Cinnamon, perfectly ripened apples, freshly-baked crust, real sugar, a hint of caramel. I lean against the door so that I can relish that scent. But, Jess. I must find her so that I can tell her that I'm back, that I chose her, that I'm never leaving again. I must find her. Where is she? She's not in the kitchen. Oh, that pie smells wonderful. Enticing. Sensual, even. I can't wait to have a slice or two or three. Just let the flavor wash over me. Now, I'm in bed, being kissed. Jess is kissing me. The apple pie aroma is stronger than ever. That's not right. That doesn't make sense. Jess wouldn't bring pie to bed. Plus. Jess is dead. She died more than a dozen years ago. This is my recurring dream about finding her burning on the ceiling. I should be feeling drops of blood on my face, not lips on mine. Not heavenly smells. Not a body pressed tightly, wantonly, against me. 

Besides, that body is far too warm, solid, heavy to be dream Jess. Far too real. Also--the figure straddling me rubs against my groin with a bulge no woman has--male.

My eyes pop open. I see heavy eyelashes. Pale freckles. High, flushed cheekbones. Dean. The man embracing me is my brother.

I push up and sideways, gently dislodging him from my mouth, my chest. 

"Sammy," he moans, grasping at me. "Need you."

The desperate sound invokes an unfamiliar pressure in my crotch. I've been hardening in the same way for more than two decades. This is new, strange. Is it part of becoming an Alpha?

I reach down beneath my clothes to find out what's changed and, sure enough, I'm a different shape. I try to recall everything the alt-Winchesters told me while I was trying to care for my poor, sick, transforming brother. A knot, my brain supplies. This is the beginning of a knot.

Another hand joins mine. Large, calloused, trembling, roasting hot. "Look what you've been hiding, Sammy." His tone is similar to that of the flirtations I've heard directed at women across the country, but it's completely lacking the confident suaveness that convinced all those ladies to invite him to bed. Instead, he's breathy, needy.

I ignore my body's all too obvious excitement at the submissive pleading in my normally ultra-masculine brother's voice, and take a closer look at his face. Dean's rosy skin is shining with sweat. His lips are redder and fuller than ever, his eyelashes longer and darker. Dean lifts his attention from my groin to meet my gaze. I gasp. His eyes are hazy and blown with lust. But their familiar (beguiling) green is utterly absent. Instead, his irises are gold. Not the cold, metallic gleam of nephilim power, but a warm, homey color, reminiscent of low, flickering fires on a winter night.

He's stunningly, devastatingly beautiful. Everything I never knew I wanted. Combined with his wondrously arousing scent, the effect is absolutely irresistible. All I want to do is flip him over and sink into his gorgeous body. And maybe spend the rest of eternity there.

But. It hits me with a sudden, awful clarity that I have to resist.

Dean is currently a slave to unfamiliar, overwhelming hormones. It doesn't matter that he's seducing me, begging me; giving in would still be rape.

I wrench myself away from his welcoming warmth and stumble to the door.

*

Our AU selves are in the hallway, standing close together as they talk quietly. They greet my appearance with twin expressions of shock.

"Not many Alphas could walk away from an Omega in heat." Omega Sam looks awed.

"He's the Alpha version of you, babe," Alpha Dean slides an arm around his mate. "Of course, he's impressive." He pauses, a flicker of horror dancing across his face. "Not as impressive as Omega you, obviously," he adds quickly.

"Nice save," Omega Sam replies with a kiss. He turns back to me. "We were trying to think of a way to stop you. It can be dangerous to knot an Omega in his first heat. His organs are still developing. They can be permanently damaged. And, of course, there's the risk of birth defects."

I blanch. The possibility of pregnancy hadn't even entered my mind, let alone fetal complications.

"Then, there's the whole consent issue," Omega Sam concludes.

"Well," I say, "Good to know you would have stopped me."

Omega Sam's face closes off. "We would have tried."

Alpha Dean adds,"It's not easy getting between an Alpha and his mate. You would have tried to kill us."

I want to argue but I know he's right. The mere thought of another potential mate going near Dean has me clenching my fists. It's not hard to imagine that anger growing into murderous rage. 

"We did try to tell you all of this, but you were too focused on Dean to listen," Omega Sam points out.

I nod, feeling a bit like a recalcitrant student. I try to organize my thoughts into a reply--an apology or explanation, perhaps.

"Sammy!" My brother's scream rips through the door.

I move with the intention of running to him, but I'm stopped by two pairs of strong arms.

"What did we just talk about?" Alpha Dean growls.

Omega Sam looks up at me, sympathetically. "I'll take care of him." He shows me a pink grocery bag. "I brought some supplies. You" he points at me "make yourself scarce for the next two days."

*

Alpha Dean wants to see more of our "weird Beta-only universe," so we agree on a short road trip. Omaha.

We choose a motel and a bar using the same wordless communication I've always had with my Dean. 

"You know," he comments, lounging on his bar stool, "when I presented, Dad took me to an Alpha club and found an Omega for me to knot." He pauses to grin at me. "Somehow, I don't think you would appreciate the same."

I shake my head, repulsed. "Not really." I've had my share of one-night-stands (more than my brother realizes) but casual sex has never much appealed to me. And what Alpha Dean is describing sounds almost like prostitution. "So, what happened when Sam presented?"

"Dad spent two days perched in front of his bed with a shotgun." He takes a drink. "I am so glad he did. I was twenty years old. All I thought about was girls and Omegas and there was Sam smelling like heaven. I would have claimed him on the spot."

I sip my own beer. "How did you get together?'

A faraway smile lightens his face. "Two months before my deal came due, he came up to me and said that, if we only had a little time left, he wanted to know what it would be like to . . . to kiss me." Alpha Dean winks. "We went a lot further than a kiss."

A curvy blonde woman across the bar smooths her hair before determinedly making her way towards us. This is the moment my Dean would tell me not to wait up, but Alpha Dean is in a committed relationship, so he'll have to reject her. Must happen to him a lot. 

Strangely, though, when she gets within a couple of feet, her expression grows confused and mildly disgusted. She spins off into another direction.

"She senses that I'm taken." Alpha Dean must note my bewilderment because he continues: "Alphas and Omegas mate for life. It changes our scent, makes us uninteresting to people looking for . . . you know." He shrugs.

"Does it make other people . . . uninteresting to you?" I ask, recalling that he had been unaffected by Dean's incredible smell.

He crosses his arms, smirks at me. "That's an affirmative. Your brother may be a handsome devil, but the only Omega I want is my Sam."


	8. Designations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how coherent this chapter is going to be. My autistic kid has been screaming for days (he doesn't do well with school vacations), so my brain is fried.

Dean's POV:

I wake up with a clear head and the realization that I haven't had a clear head for (3?) days. My windowless room is dim, but I can see which corner I threw my clothes and which my blanket. I'm guessing my phone is still in one my pockets. I should get it. Find out what time it is. What day it is. If Sam has texted me.

Sam . . . .

Did I really try to seduce my baby brother?

Bile starts dancing around in my stomach and rising up my throat. I lurch upwards, intending to race for the bathroom. The ordinarily soft sheets grind against my skin, damp with sweat, sticky with what feels like come, itchy from dried who-knows-what. And there's something in my bottom.

I pull at it. It doesn't budge. My fingers brush against a button. One push and part of the--something--deflates and it pops out with an unpleasant squelching sound.

A dildo. 

It's a dildo with an expandable part (a knot?). My head starts pounding. I remember.

I remember banging myself with a dildo that Omega Sam brought me. Over and over. And pressing the button to knot myself. Over and over.

And coming from that over and over.

I put my head in my hands.

I'm so straight I've never let anyone touch me there. Even when the girl was extremely hot. I never wanted to get to fifth base with any girl, either (once I found out what that meant). I still don't. But, well, that dildo felt really good. Maybe I could let someone get to fifth base with me. My eyes drop shut as I imagine being penetrated by someone warm and throbbing, his huge hands clutching my waist as he thrusts in and out, his long hair tickling my cheek . . .

I'm imagining Sam.

I'm no longer in a lust-filled craze and I still want my brother.

Well. it's not like my feelings for him weren't already unhealthy. Codependent. Desperate. Needy. How much does this new sexual component even change? He probably won't even notice it's there. And, being a Winchester, he'll scrub all memories of my unwanted advances. I cringe, my face growing hot as I recall Sam racing out of the room and away from me. Yeah, he'll repress that. I wish I could.

I heave a sigh and begin bundling up my soiled sheets. That done, I pull on the first (clean) clothes I find and head for the door, dirty linens in tow.

"Oh, good, your heat's over." Omega Sam is perched on a chair outside my room with a book on his lap, another on the floor, and a third open in his left hand.

A heat. Like a female animal. I gulp. "So, I'm a . . . I'm like you?"

He nods. "Yes. You've presented as an Omega."

A wave of dizziness has me clutching my head after dropping my linen bundle. "Why?" I ask, although perhaps the more relevant question would be "How?"

Omega Sam picks up my sheets. "Let me help you with this and then I'll make you some coffee."

*

We're in Omega Sam's kitchen. "Sorry," he tells me, gesturing for one of the stools. "I'm sure you would be more comfortable in your own kitchen, but I know where everything is in mine and I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything. Except relax."

He hands me a mug of coffee and a clearly homemade muffin. "Thanks," I say. "So, what, I had carnal thoughts about my brother and then I literally grew lady parts? That's like the plot of a bad horror movie."

Omega Sam shoots me a very familiar withering look, reminding me that he and my Sam share (nearly) identical personalities.

"Sorry." I take a bite of my muffin. "I just don't get how this happened."

He pulls a pear out of a bowl of fruit and begins to slice it. "It's not unheard of for Betas to suddenly present as Alphas and Omegas. Scientists think the potential is buried deep in the DNA of some Betas and that it can be activated by environmental factors. A shortage of Alphas and Omegas in the community, maybe." He peers thoughtfully at me. "In your case, it may have been activated just by meeting us." A pause. "You probably would have presented at sixteen if you lived here." A circular gesture presumably encompasses his world instead of just his kitchen. "We're basically the same, after all."

A sudden fury swirls within me. The world turns yellow. Or gold. Is it possible to become jaundiced out of anger? I squeeze my eyes shut. "We're not the same," I manage to gasp out. "If we were, I would be . . . I would be . . . ."

A warm hand rubs circles on the back of my neck. "Hey," he murmurs. "I'm sorry if I was insensitive. It's okay. It's normal for Omega males to be upset they're not Alphas."

I swing around to look at him. "Were you?"

His hand falls to his side. His lips quirk. "You know, everyone expected me to be an Alpha. I was already tall and I was always taking on bullies and speaking my mind in class. And fighting with Dad." He looks down for a moment. "And I really liked girls." He grins. "Not as much as Dean, though."

I'm nodding. This is a fair description of adolescent Sam. Hot-headed, rebellious, confident. Spending his weekends with girlfriends whenever we stayed in one place long enough for him to get to know the female population of the local high school. "But you didn't care?"

"I actually wanted to be a Beta." He tells me. "Betas seemed like the definition of normal to me. But," he shrugs, "my scent proved that I was either Alpha or Omega. My genetics, too, if they'd ever been tested. So. I wanted to be an Omega."

"How come?" I can't fathom actually wanting to grow a womb and go through heats every month. And have everyone who smells you know that you're not completely masculine.

He exhales. "Dad was an Alpha. Dean's an Alpha. So are most hunters. I thought that if I was an Omega I would no longer be expected to go into the family business."

"Didn't work, I take it?" 

He shakes his head. "Turns out, being Omega is an asset for a hunter. Witnesses inherently trust me and monsters constantly underestimate my strength and intellect. And my smell draws them out."

These are good points, but . . . . "Okay, this just shows why it would make sense for Sam--my Sam--to be an Omega. But that's not what happened." 

Omega Sam walks back to his seat, sits down, eats a slice of pear. "Maybe. But meeting your brother has me remembering all the reasons why everyone thought I would be an Alpha. I think . . . I think I would have been if Dean hadn't already presented as one." He shudders. "I'm so glad that didn't happen. I love my designation."

"So, you're saying that I'm an Omega because we presented at the same time and Sam is more of a man than I am?" My voice is bitter.

He glares at me. "I'm saying that whatever powers that be chose your designation saw that you are a better caregiver, that you are better at cooking, that you can make a house a home, that you're better with children. That you connect with people on a deeper level. That you are stronger mentally." He stands up, still glaring. "That you are a survivor. That you are brave and protective." He takes a breath, narrows his eyes at me. "That you are man enough to be an Omega."

I'm staring open-mouthed.

He smiles slightly. "Like I said, I love our designation."

I'm starting to feel better about my new gender. "But you still think we would have all been Alphas if we didn't have brothers."

He nods. "I've suspected that for some time and the way that you two presented seems to confirm it."

I consider this. "Do you think it's because our differences make us a stronger unit?" 

"That. And we're True Mates."

"You're what now?"

He gathers up all of our empty dishes. "True Mates. Betas use the term soulmates."

"Oh." I can't pretend to be surprised. More than one individual has hinted that Sam and I are soulmates. I'd always assumed (hoped?) they meant it platonically.

"Yes. I had to be an Omega because Dean and I are meant to be together." A dreamy smile lights his face.

I feel somewhat impatient. "I still haven't figured out what you mean by mates. Is that a fancy word for boyfriends? Husbands?"

He gives me a fond look. "Still with the Beta terminology." He moves close to me, pulls down the neck of his flannel. "Look." There's an old, but somehow still red, bruise on his neck. The shape is an oval, with the marks of former indentations all around. Teeth marks.

I back away, my hand over my mouth. "How? What? Who?"

He restraightens his shirt. "It's my mating mark. Dean bit me when he claimed me."

I touch my own neck. A picture jumps into my mind of Sam sinking his teeth into me while sinking other parts of his anatomy into other parts of mine. It's not an unpleasant thought. In fact, my new internal system likes the prospect so much that I can feel the back of my underwear growing damp. "I take it it's permanent."

"Until death do we part." His grin falls into a frown. "Of course, death has parted us a lot." He bites the inside of his mouth. "When that happens, the mating mark fades and our scents change back to what they were before we got together."

"What does that mean?" If my own olfactory sense hadn't become insanely strong, I would have been completely unable to follow this conversation. I'm having trouble anyway.

"It means we smell available. It means other people smell available to us."

"Like Ru . . . like Lisa?" Lisa is a painful memory, but I still seethe whenever I recall Sam's demon girlfriend.

Omega Sam raises his eyebrows. "Yes, like Ruby and Lisa."

"But only until he bites you again?--Alphas and Omegas can't cheat on each other?" This sounds bizarre. Humans might want to mate for life, but--let's be honest--it doesn't happen naturally.

"Not easily." He grimaces. "You have to fight past a natural repellent. On both sides." He swallows. "It's easier if the person is a Beta."

My eyes narrow. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

He closes his eyes. "Castiel. Just after I expelled Gadreel."

My eyes pop. "No freaking way!"

"There you two are!" Alpha Dean saunters into the kitchen, closely followed by my Alpha brother.

Who immediately declares: "We've found a way to use the ring of Amara!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to clarify what it means for Alphas and Omegas to mate for life. Because I'd noticed an inconsistency in my story. I hope it's not too stilted.


	9. Epiphanies

Sam's POV:

Alpha Dean and I are sauntering through the streets of downtown Omaha. All of the other pedestrians are giving us a wide berth, without apparently being entirely aware they're doing so. Nearly everyone avoids eye contact. Anyone we speak to responds with the utmost politeness. I'm starting to suspect that bystanders would kneel or bow if we showed the slightest inclination for such submission. It's surreal. At a height of six-five, I've always been able to seem imposing when I want to, but I've never before effortlessly commanded deference. 

It's instinctive, I realize. These people have never seen or heard of an Alpha, but they naturally treat us like we're their leaders. No wonder Alpha Dean's universe chose to classify them as Betas. 

Them.

Already I'm thinking of other human beings as if I am no longer one of them. As if I'm better. Worse than that, I can feel aggression simmering beneath my skin, waiting for an excuse to boil over--waiting for a chance to prove my dominance. 

I shudder.

Alpha Dean is sharing stories, as we continue the process of comparing our similar but not at all identical histories. "So, I'd just gotten out of Hell, and I was feeling like half an Alpha, and I was trying to figure out if Sam wanted me to claim him again, when he met Cas. And he was just mesmerized. Because Cas was this super-powerful Beta angel who behaved like an Alpha. And he had just done the hero thing by pulling me out of Hell."

I'm intrigued by this alternative history of our friendship with Castiel. "So, you were jealous."

He steps off the curb into a crowd of civilians who promptly scatter. "I suppose. It took me a long time to really warm up to him."

I follow him. The empty bubble surrounding me expands to merge with his, then shrinks into a single circle, separating the two of us from the dense crowds. "I was jealous, too. Cas and Dean instantly had this deep connection that I was not a part of. It felt like I was being replaced by a better, cooler, more dependable model." We exchange rueful smiles. "It wasn't until fairly recently that Cas started to feel like my best friend, too."

Alpha Dean pulls a stetson off a hatstand at a kiosk. "At least your brother didn't sleep with him."

I laugh, recalling Dean's outraged expression every time anyone insinuated he had something going on with the angel. "Yeah. He doesn't swing that way." Vivid recollections of a hormone-addled Dean grinding against me make me pause. "At least he didn't."

Alpha Dean grimaces. "I can't imagine a version of me being attracted to my best friend." He looks nauseated. "Maybe he won't be." He brightens. "Some Omegas prefer other Omegas and Beta women. It's even legal for them to marry now."

I turn to him with what I know is a geeky expression of fascination. "Obergefell?"

He puts down the hat he'd been examining. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"It legalized gay marriage here."

"Huh." Our eyes meet in a moment of camaraderie. His widen as they spot something behind me. I turn. He's staring at a royal blue silk shawl dotted with honey bees. Alpha Dean shakes his head, smirking. "Did your Cas every go through a phase where he was obsessed with bees?"

I nod, grinning.

He grins back. "I'll have to meet him sometime."

"Too bad we can't just pray and have appear anymore."

His smile fades. "I wish there was a way to get his powers back. The poor guy clearly feels like less of an angel without them." He raises his eyebrows at me. "Plus, they were useful."

I nod again. "Yeah." An epiphany explodes within me. "Wait."

"What?'

"So, the Ring of Amara kills people because we have finite lives. But not every creature does. Angel's live forever if they're not . . . "

"Killed by an angel blade." He looks thoughtful. "You think Cas could use the ring?"

"Maybe. I'll have to do some research." I turn around. "Let's head back to the motel."

"Or," he stops me, twists my body so I'm facing a cafe advertising free internet. "You can research here while enjoying some pie."

*

"Okay, Cas. See you when you get here. Drive safe, buddy." Dean hangs up and slides his phone into his back pocket. "He'll be here tomorrow."

I quickly raise my head so my brother won't notice my ogling his (firm, round) rear and nod. "Should we go back to ABO universe and see what time their Cas is coming?"

He shrugs, muscles rippling with the movement. "Probably, but it's kind of nice to just be alone for awhile." He chuckles. "Guess it's possible to spend too much time with yourself."

I quirk my lips in an almost smile. I'd expected things to be awkward between Dean and me after nearly mauling each other in hormone-fueled passion, but that doesn't make the reality any less uncomfortable. It doesn't help that the changes to us and between us are permanent. The dynamic which has kept us by each other's side through unimaginable hardships for decades is broken. Forever. We'll have to forge a new one or go our separate ways. We might have to go our separate ways anyway.

"Stop." Dean is wrinkling his nose as he backs away from me. "Your smell is becoming acrid. Stop stressing over whatever you're stressing."

"You can smell that?" Good to know I now stink whenever I'm worried. Better stock up on some high-powered deodorant. And some strong cologne. 

A pair of hands grasp my shoulders. "We'll figure this out. Like we always do."

I look down at him. His expression is full of big brother tenderness. It's comforting in its familiarity. Soothing. His green eyes gaze up at me with a soft warmness, like lush grass on a summer afternoon. I want to bask in them. Before I quite realize what I'm doing, I step closer, lift a hand to frame his pretty face, angle his jaw so that my view of those lovely eyes is completely unimpeded. He blinks, his long eyelashes drifting slowly down over his eyes and back up, creating enticing shadows in the artificial light. 

"You smell better." His chest vibrates against mine as he speaks. When did I pull him so close to me? When did I wrap my free arm around him?

"Good. I guess." I stare wonderingly down at the face that I have always associated with home. A few years ago, I startled myself with the discovery that I loved my life with Dean. That the joy, meaning, and contentment I had once hoped to find with a wife, kids, dog, and 'normal' job were all present in my domestic and hunting partnership with my brother.  
All of that is still present, but intensified thanks to our new biological differences. Dean is my home, my life, my everything. He's beautiful and sexy and his scent is utterly captivating. I already loved him over and above everyone and everything else. Is it any wonder that I'm in love with him now? Now that he's an Omega? My Omega.

There's a spike in Dean's (now) natural apple pie scent; his green eyes brighten into gold. He's reacting to my emotions--to every change in my odor. "Sam?"

I lean over to whisper in his ear. "Do you want this?'

His body shivers, igniting every spot of me he touches. In answer, he grabs my face and presses his lips to mine.

I gasp. He tastes like pie and coffee and smoke and I can't get enough. I crush him to me.

Two minutes of bumbling around and bumping into walls later, we make it to my bed (my room is closer). I press him down into the sheets, taking a second to wonder when we managed to lose all our clothes. There must be a long line of them stretching from the library to my door. Dean arches up against my body and I lose all train of thought. I caress the soft angles of his body, kiss his chest, push an exploratory finger inside him. He's wet and loose. No need for lube or any kind of prep. 

I lean over Dean's body as I slowly, careful slide into him. I have been with witches, demons, werewolves, and kinky humans, so I no stranger to anal sex. This is different. It doesn't feel like vaginal sex, either. It's something in between. Dean is hot and tight and moist. And perfect. His channel was made for me.

"Sam," Dean orders in a gasp, "Move!"

I move.


	10. Beta Castiel

Dean's POV:

Sam pushes into me, inch by glorious inch. I expected it to hurt, but it doesn't: my body naturally opens up for him, while producing slick to ease the way. And every brush against my inner walls sends tingles of pleasure skating through me. It's indescribably amazing, completely unlike any of my previous sexual experiences. Is it the same for my brother? I look up. Sam is gazing down at me, his pupils so dilated that there is only a thin, fiery ring of red surrounding them. His tan skin is flushed behind his curtain of hair and shining with sweat. His shapely lips are swollen, scarlet, open slightly, giving me a glimpse of teeth that weren't that sharp a few days ago. He would be terrifyingly beautiful if his face didn't radiate tenderness, love, as much as desire. All of which are eclipsed by an expression of wonder when he slides in a bit further until his pubic hairs tickle me.

We are as close as two human beings can be. It's intense, intimate. Strangely comforting--like coming home. But . . . .

"Sam," I gasp. "Move."

He moves. Every thrust ignites a spark within me, adding to the swiftly-building conflagration. He reaches with one hand to (gently) squeeze my (previously not) sensitive nipples and that's it. 

"Sammy!" I scream.

"Dean," he growls in response, growing impossibly bigger as he releases inside me.

And continues to release.

It feels amazing, like we've actually merged into one person. Become the Samanddean that even our closest friends already view us as. I smile up at my brother. "I think we're tied together."

"It must be my knot." He's smiling back at me, his face happier and more open than I've seen it in years.

When it becomes clear that his deflating any time soon, he grips my waist and spins so that I'm resting on top of him. I blink in shock. I've never quite realized just how much bigger and stronger Sam actually is. Even as my endorphin high begins to fade, I'm wondering how else we can use that strength and flexibility. For instance, would he be up for wall sex? Chair sex? Table sex? Counter sex? Ooh, we could have Impala sex. Combine my three favorite things (Sam, Baby, and sex). 

This wasn't quite the best sex I've ever had (I've been with some very talented ladies and while Sam is a skilled and attentive lover, he has clearly never been with a guy before) but it was so explosively, unbelievably, incredible that I can tell that we just need a little bit of practice and we'll be having the most mind-blowing of mind-blowing sex. I know I never want to go back to, well, Beta sex. I just have to make sure Sam agrees. (And convince him if he doesn't).

I look down at my brother. His dark hair halos his handsome face. His skin has returned to its usual golden-brown shade, his lips back to pale pink. Hazel eyes without a hint of red stare up at me in concern. "Are we good?" he asks softly. 

I lean down to kiss him. "We're good."

*

We're sitting side by side on the war room table waiting for Cas to come down the stairs so we can take him to meet his Beta counterpart. The atmosphere between us should be uncomfortable--we did just alter our relationship irrevocably by committing incest--but we are as relaxed, as in-sync, as we have ever been. Perhaps more so. I recall how often people, monsters, and celestial beings have assumed we're a couple. Maybe we've always been meant to be together.

The shrieking of the Bunker door opening alerts us to the arrival of our best friend. I look up. Cas heads down the stairs, confident posture, tousled black hair, luminous blue eyes. I swallow. Was my friend always this hot?--I guess becoming an Omega really has changed my sexuality. I jump when Sam shifts beside me. I glance at him. His face is deliberately blank, but his fists are clenched and his eyes are more red than hazel. Not to mention his aroma is sour with what has to be Alpha jealousy. It's endearing. I don't bother to hide the smile playing on my lips as I take his hand. A second later I'm in his lap, my mouth devoured by his.

"I see you've finally consummated your relationship." Cas' deadpan tone could be making a point about the likelihood of rain.

I try to jump out of Sam's arms, but he holds me there. "That's not why we called you." His voice is steady, sweet, betraying no hint of our recent activities.

Mine trembles with irritation and arousal. Hopefully, Cas will be as oblivious as ever. "We want to show you something."

*

By this point, Sam and I are accustomed to arriving at the Office between Worlds in tandem with our alternate selves. The same cannot be said for Cas. Either Cas.

"Another doppelganger," they speak at the same time, looking less than thrilled.

"Cas, he's not an evil twin," both Sams encourage. "He's just like you." They look at each other. "I think."

The two Castiels stare identically skeptically at the two Sams. They cock their heads, silently calculating the situation, cataloging the differences between my Alpha brother and his Omega alternate. After a moment, they switch their unblinking regard to Alpha Dean and me. I've always found Cas' wide-eyed stares disconcerting; it's far worse when there are two trenchcoated angels quietly gaping at me. 

After a moment, they turn back to each other. "Our universes must be very similar," they calmly observe in unison. Alt Cas looks at Omega Sam, our Cas looks at me. "You wanted to show me something?" They glance at each other. "Else?'

The Sams say "Yes" and immediately begin working seamlessly together, gathering books and supplies. They mix several ingredients together in a small bowl, including a few drops of blood from both of them.

Omega Sam informs his hovering Alpha that "There needs to be blood from someone from each universe."

He questions: "Did you find the recipe in Greene's journal?'

My Sam binds his self-inflicted knife wound. "Sort of. It was in code."

Omega Sam adds, "I needed something to read while you were in Omaha."

This story still isn't quite adding up, so I ask, "Okay, but when did you two discuss this code?'

Sam shrugs. "You're a deep sleeper."

I open my mouth to argue that I am not a deep sleeper because a hunter cannot afford to be one and I am the greatest hunter in the world, but I'm forced to admit to myself that I do sleep soundly on the rare occasions when I feel safe. And nowhere has ever felt safer than Sam's arms. I close my mouth.

He sends me an affectionate smirk that tells me he understands exactly what thoughts just crossed my mind. He is still smirking as he turns around and begins finger-painting a sigil with the blood mixture on the wall between the two desks. A compartment containing a small box promptly opens. He hands the box to one of the Castiels. Which one I'm not sure--they are so completely identical, from clothing to posture to messy hair to gravely voice. Well, there is one difference: my best friend does not shoot longing glances at Omega Sam. The angel carefully opening the box must be Beta Cas. 

The two rings inside are deceptively simple, clearly designed to be as unobtrusive as possible so that prospective thieves will not recognize their actual incalculable value. Both angels lean close, running their fingers over the jewelry without actually touching the tiny circlets. "This ring," one of them comments, "contains a very strong, very dark power. It reminds me of . . . ."

"Amara," I supply.

Blue eyes pierce me. "I hope you did not try it on."

I shake my head.

Sam materializes beside me, his arm around my waist. "We think you could safely use it. Since you're essentially immortal and angel power is similar to Amara's power."

The other Sam adds, "Sort of."

The two Castiels stare at each other for a full minute, their silent communication creating a perfect mirror image tableau. They must come to an agreement because they pick up the rings, coolly tell us "Shield your eyes," and put them on.

There's an explosion of light.

I open my eyes to see two fully-powered angels, lush wings casting giant shadows on the walls, eyes glowing blue, veins sparkling with grace. 

The arm around my waist tightens, quivers with excitement. "Let's see what happens when you take it off." Hazel eyes shimmer with academic curiosity. He frowns suddenly. "It shouldn't hurt you."

After another exchange of looks with his double, our Cas slides his ring off. His otherworldly aura fades, but otherwise he seems unchanged. Unharmed. He studies the ring in his palm. "I think I will keep this."

"So will I." Beta Cas takes off his own ring. The two angels slip their new weapons in their pockets and nod at each other.

*

Sam and I are finally alone in my room (after several hours of celebratory whiskey drinking with our friends and doppelgangers). The memory foam of my mattress is soft against my back as my brother thrusts slowly into me. He's kissing my neck.

"Bite me," I whisper, baring my throat. "Claim me."

He pauses. Looks down at me, eyes varying between lustful red and hopeful hazel. "Are you sure?"

"I've always been yours."

I climax the moment his teeth sink into my skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I'm done!--This story has been so fun to write. I like both Alpha Sam and Alpha Dean fics, so I decided to explore both dynamics at the same time. (Although my preference for top Sam made the narration decision clear). Anyway, thank you to everyone who has stayed with me.

**Author's Note:**

> The a/b/o AUs fascinate me. So, here's my attempt to explore the concept.


End file.
